


Give a Little Bit More

by catwalksalone



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Angst, Blow Job, First Time, Frottage, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-23
Updated: 2007-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/pseuds/catwalksalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For <a href="http://lordessrenegade.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://lordessrenegade.livejournal.com/"><b>lordessrenegade</b></a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Give a Little Bit More

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://lordessrenegade.livejournal.com/profile)[**lordessrenegade**](http://lordessrenegade.livejournal.com/).

**I did it one time and I liked it**

The first time was an accident. Leastways, that's what Casey told himself. An accident.

Funny definition of accident, Dan thinks.

Casey is on the floor, legs vanishing under Dan's coffee table, back against the couch. He's mumbling something that Dan doesn't quite catch. Dan's stretched out along the couch, a pillow tucked behind his head. He's trying to wind down after a tough day. Casey seems determined to stay wound. Every now and then he reaches into the bag of peanuts by his side and pelts one at the screen. Dan lets him. Later Casey will suffer the remorse of the truly anal-retentive and pick up every last one. He'll also find the tiny screw that pinged out of Dan's favorite sunglasses a couple of days previously.

So Dan's lying there, peaceful and Casey is attacking the TV screen with nuts and vitriol. He turns round to make a point and gets half way through before Dan pats his head and tells him to relax. Casey's not sure he wants to but Dan has changed the pat into a stroke and is repeating "Relaaaaaaaaaaaax," like some kind of manic yogic master. It feels good. Casey's touch-starved  he hasn't had sex in a while and hasn't been petted in what seems like forever. He smiles at Dan and promises to calm down. Dan lets his hand fall back to the couch.

"Don't stop," Casey is surprised to find himself saying. Dan's surprised too. "It's helping me relax," Casey says by way of explanation. "You told me to relax." He knows he sounds like a whiny child but he's feeling abandoned.

"In that case, I know just what you need," says Dan. "And you don't even have to take your eyes off the TV." He sits up and arranges himself so that Casey is sitting between his legs. "Move forward a little."

Casey shuffles his ass across the hardwood floor. Dan puts his hands on Casey's shoulders. His grip is firm but not tight. He starts to knead the muscles, his thumbs circling and pressing, fingers squeezing and releasing. It feels great. Casey bends forward, giving Dan better access. Dan drifts his hands downwards then pushes in, dragging his thumbs up the inside of Casey's shoulder-blades. Casey feels the shivers as far down as his toes. He moans a little and is enjoying himself too much to want to take it back. Dan repeats the action several times before moving on to Casey's neck, up past his hair line, soothing fingers brushing across Casey's forehead, rubbing at his temples. Casey has stopped watching the TV, has lost all sense of time as Dan takes him apart, one knot at a time.

Dan's hands skim open-fingered down Casey's back and then are gone. Casey wants them back.

"Better?"

"Huh?" Dan's expecting coherence? Casey can't quite manage that  it seems Dan has stolen his brains along with his bones. So instead he twists his head around and smiles, catching the tail end of something in Dan's eyes and the beginning of something else entirely in Dan's pants before the shutters come down and Dan pulls his feet up onto the couch, clasping his knees.

Casey blames what happens next on the incoherence.

He turns round onto his knees, takes hold of Dan's ankles and pulls. Dan jerks forward, sits ramrod straight. Casey's kind of close to Dan's groin and he's fascinated. Massaging him did _that_ to Danny? He's feeling smug and magnanimous. One good turn and all that. He puts out a hand, touches the bulge in Dan's pants  it's a strange sensation, half-hard, still curled, like some kind of hibernating animal. Dan almost hits the ceiling.

"Casey!" he squeaks, trying to prize him off.

Casey can see that Dan's going to insist on being talkative. He doesn't want talkative. He kneels up, pushes Dan back, then uses his sweater as leverage to haul himself up onto the couch, onto Dan's lap. Before Dan can protest, Casey is kissing him. It's this or a gag and Casey doesn't want to lose the momentum by searching for something to stuff in Dan's mouth. He pushes away the inevitable thought and continues with his chosen shutting-up tactic. It's more pleasant than he would have thought, kissing Dan. It's kind of weird, because it's _Dan_ but still he's got to rate it fairly highly  he knows what to do with his tongue and he doesn't slobber. And it appears to be acting as an effective distraction.

Casey renews his exploration of Dan's groin. He feels Dan hardening under his hand and decides to experiment with a rub. Dan's thigh muscles tense underneath him. He doesn't seem very relaxed. Perhaps he needs some more room. Casey knows from experience the requirement for readjustment in these circumstances. He fumbles with the button on Dan's pants, ignoring the way Dan clutches at him. Successful, he reaches in and straightens Dan out. The weight and solidity of Dan's cock is a surprise: so like his own but so different. Casey's intrigued. He needs better access so he leans into Dan, transferring his mouth to Dan's neck. This has the side-effect of releasing Dan's mouth.

"Um," says Dan.

Shut up, thinks Casey and gives Dan's cock a gentle tug. It works. If I'd known it was this easy to shut Dan up, thinks Casey; he makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger and gets to work with his improvised massage. He's concentrating so hard that he forgets what his mouth was doing and he's just resting it against Dan's neck. He can feel the pulse under his lips, fast and fierce. He likes it, he doesn't know why. Getting Dan to come turns out to be easy; Casey's quite proud of himself as he wipes sticky fingers on Dan's t-shirt. Dan's breathing hard, but his eyes are closed and his arms flop by his side. He's definitely relaxed. Casey isn't any more. He's stupidly hard. He wasn't expecting that.

When he returns from the bathroom embarrassment has started to set in and it's not helped by the fact that Dan's eyes are now open and looking at Casey with a strange mixture of confusion, fear and satisfaction.

"It was an accident," he blurts out.

Dan's expression changes to one of long-suffering.

"Don't freak out, Casey."

"It was an accident."

"I know. My powers of massage unhinged you temporarily. You accidentally stuck your tongue in my mouth and your hand in my pants as a result. It's fine, Casey. Whatever."

"I just ... I wanted you to feel good, Danny." Casey collapsed onto the couch, a neat space between him and Dan.

"Well, thank you for that," says Dan and reaches down to pick up the peanuts. He hands them to Casey.

The next time the ref makes a stupid decision, Casey tips out a whole handful and throws them at the TV.

**so I did it 2 times got addicted**

He forgets all about it. Except for the times when he thinks about it. But that's hardly ever  just every time he sees Dan and every night when he's alone. That's all. And sometimes in the morning too because he knows he'll see Dan soon. That's definitely all. Dan hasn't noticed  nothing's changed. It's all good.

It takes seventeen days until Casey admits he's lost it. He decides to engineer another 'accident'. He reasons that if he can get Danny to blow him it'll be done with  curiosity satisfied, mission accomplished. Over and out. The End. Finito.

All day he complains about how tense he is, rolls his neck ostentatiously until Dana tells him to either go to an osteopath or shut the hell up. After work he invites himself back to Dan's. Dan agrees and Casey smiles – so far so good. But when they get into Dan's apartment Dan takes Casey by the collar, backs him up against the wall and says, "For fuck's sake, Casey," and kisses him. Hard.

It's different to the last time. Dan's in control and it's hot and wet and nasty and it's a line of fire from Casey's mouth to his cock. Casey's hands are flattened against the wall and he's pushing back on it with all he's got because any second now his feet are going to slide out from under him and he wants to know what happens next.

What happens next is that Dan loosens his hold on Casey's collar and starts unbuckling Casey's belt. In just a few seconds Casey's pants are around his ankles and the hairs on his shins rise from the draft coming under the door. Dan pulls away from the kiss, Casey follows  some kind of automatic response. But Dan's too far away to kiss, he's on his knees holding Casey's cock and licking it and Casey knows this is just the beginning and wonders how his knees are going to hold out. He pushes back harder against the wall. It's cool on his naked ass and Dan's mouth is warm on his cock and he can't quite marry the two sensations. But it's OK because Dan's hand makes its way up Casey's inner thigh and strokes and squeezes his balls and it feels so good that Casey forgets about trying to marry sensations and decides to invite them to an orgy instead.

It's exactly like he imagined. It's nothing like he imagined. It's better than he imagined. Casey's mind is a whirling blur of color, and, at the centre, Dan's mouth. Dan's beautiful, expressive, cock-sucking mouth. Dan's mouth that was made for exactly this moment. Casey does a stupid thing. He looks down and sees Dan's lips sliding up and down the length of him. He wants to touch them. He wants to join them. He wants to know how they would feel kissing his  oh, god. He doesn't know what he wants. He wants to come. He really, really wants to come.

He should warn Dan, but he's past speaking, past any kind of articulate thought. Touch. A touch should do it. He pulls a hand from the wall, reaching for Dan's hair. But it turns out to have been more of a support than Casey realized and his feet start to slide away from the wall. He slams the hand back again, regains his footing. Dan is startled and squeezes Casey's balls a little tighter. Casey comes and comes and comes, ass slamming back into the wall again and again. Dan takes it all.

Dan stands and heads to the kitchen. Casey recovers himself enough to pull up his pants and fasten them with nerve-blunted fingers. He leaves the belt undone. Dan comes back, sipping a glass of water. He looks at Casey, no hint of anything on his face.

"Better now?" he asks.

Casey looks back at him. Blinks. Is he better now? This may not be the right time to ask, what with the memory of Dan's fingers, Dan's mouth so fresh. Because yes, technically he's better, he got what he wanted, but at this point he can only see the good. Can only see the really, fucking _good_ and how can he not want to experience that over and over again?

"Go home, Casey," says Dan and he sounds tired.

**had to do it 3 times couldn't help it**

He can't settle to anything – if he can give a script more than five minutes' attention at any one time it's an achievement. Can't seem to control his temper  bit the head off Monica when she accidentally gave him the wrong-sized shirt. Hasn't slept in weeks; he's so doped up on caffeine that he gets the shakes. He hasn't been able to drag himself out of bed to attend Charlie's last two Little League games and god, he hates himself for being a bad father. Most of all he can't bring himself to look at Dan. Because Dan's living out a fantasy life in Casey's head, doing things that Casey's not even sure they've got names for.

Some days Casey blames Dan for giving a little bit and then taking it away. Casey'd expected repercussions of some kind  at the least a raised eyebrow and a 'Let's chalk that up to experience', at worst a devastating maelstrom of accusation and recrimination leaving shattered friendship in its wake, but nothing. Nothing at all. Dan gave, Dan took away and expected Casey to just get on with it? Casey lets it make him mad  it's easier to work with Dan if he's feeling mad.

Other days Casey blames himself. He's always over-thought things; he can talk himself into pretty much anything if he gives it enough attention. That's what's happened here  he's taken some enjoyable moments and built a whole structure of narrative around them that simply does not exist. He should know better  he's not a _kid_ playing with action figures in his bedroom. And still _he keeps doing it._

He can't go on like this.

Dan's ghost follows Casey everywhere these days. So when he wakes up on the couch in their office and sees Dan standing over him, he reaches out with a hand to touch, just to make sure he's real. He strokes down the inside edge of Dan's hand, index finger looping over little one for a brief second before dropping away. Casey's not sure but he might have seen Dan wince.

"What time is it?" he asks.

"A quarter after three. You sacked out after the show. No one had the heart to wake you. I said I'd drop by after we were done at _Anthony's_. Tell you to go home. Go home." He turns to go.

Casey wishes he could stop but he can't help himself. He grabs Dan's forearm and yanks hard. Dan loses his balance and stumbles against the couch, falling onto Casey's hip, hand thunking onto Casey's chest to steady himself. Casey doesn't register any pain; he's too busy trying to talk himself out of this. It's not working. He loops an arm around Dan's neck, tugging him down, lifting his head up to meet halfway. But the tendons are straining under his hand: Dan's resisting. That's fine; he didn't want to do it anyway. He's not going to beg.

"Please, Danny."

"I don't think it's such a great idea."

"Don't you want to?"

"That's not the point."

"There is no other point." And Casey renounces his claim to Dan's neck, instead using his arm to lever himself up. Their faces are almost touching. He lets go of Dan's forearm and cups his cheek instead, fingers curling around Dan's ear. Dan's breathing hard through his nose and Casey's close enough to feel the shift of air as his chest rises and falls.

"There's no other point," he repeats and kisses Dan.

Dan's not exactly fighting him but he's not helping either; his lips are closed and one arm hangs limp by his side, the other held against Casey's chest by the weight of their bodies. Casey's determined. He has to have this. He has to. He sucks Dan's lower lip into his mouth, runs his tongue along the inside of it. Nothing. He uncurls his fingers, lets them glide along Dan's jaw-line, stuttering over five o'clock shadow that's either a couple of hours early or several hours late. Dan moves his trapped arm. For a second, Casey is worried that he's going to push him away, but then Dan's mouth opens, his freed hand clutches at Casey's shoulder and they're all over each other.

There's nothing subtle about this, nothing gentle. Buttons are lost, bruises are gained. It's raw and needy and Casey can _smell_ the desperation as they rub against each other in a frantic search for release from this endless, unendurable pressure. Casey can feel it in his groin, in his chest, in his head. It rises and rises and Casey is helpless before it. He's out of control and he hates it. Or loves it. It doesn't matter. He digs his nails into Dan's back, fighting the urge to flay his skin, to rip it all to pieces. To rip them both to pieces. How can he feel this way? How can he live this way?

Dan's face is red and his breathing is ragged and Casey sees his eyes beginning to glaze. He's on the edge and Casey finds that ridiculously hot. He moves his hands to Dan's ass and pulls him close, gaining that extra bit of friction as he thrusts up again and again. Dan's eyes widen and his mouth snaps shut and Casey can see the veins standing out on his forehead as the point of no return is reached. And then Dan shudders against Casey and his eyes close, his mouth opens, his breath comes in staccato pants and the color begins to recede from his face. It's this vision of Dan coming down that pushes Casey past breaking point and he detonates  the charges going off one after another: groin, chest and head. Shattered. No way back.

For a few moments he can barely remember his name.

"We have to talk," says Dan.

**and the number 4 time was the best**

Dan gives him twenty four hours.

He would prefer twenty four years.

Twelve hours in he realizes he's already had well over half of those.

Sixteen hours in he admits to being obsessed. Dan's avoiding him, but traces of him are everywhere, and Casey can't stop looking at the couch.

Nineteen hours and forty minutes in and he's figured out exactly why he's so jumpy.

The show sucks.

Back at his apartment waiting for Dan to show up, Casey is a wreck. This whole thing is so huge that he can't even begin to get perspective on it. There's no point trying to view it from all sides because he has no idea where the sides begin. Somewhere around Alpha Centauri, he's guessing. Casey works out around hour twenty two that this _thing_ has always been there but on the edges of awareness; amorphous, intangible. Not now. Now it's front and centre and built like the Great Wall of China. Only taller and less with the being drenched with the blood of countless soldiers.

Casey decides he might be going mad.

Dan's late. The five minutes are enough to send Casey into a tailspin of imagined disasters ranging from house fires to fleeing the country. When Dan knocks on the door, Casey is there in a second, flinging it open and hauling Dan inside. He closes the door with a bang that's going to inspire complaints from the neighbors and then hustles Dan to a seat. Casey doesn't know where to put himself and settles for standing in front of Dan, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"So, talk," he says.

Dan starts to take off his coat. He looks calm. Casey doesn't.

"You're looming, Casey. You wanna sit down?"

"I'm not looming."

"You are so looming. Look at me, I'm in darkness here, you're blocking the light. You're like a Casey eclipse."

"I might be looming," concedes Casey and collapses cross-legged at Dan's feet. Dan laughs.

"And now I feel like the Maharishi."

Casey shrugs and doesn't move. Dan's smile turns sad.

"What's this about for you, Casey? Is it sex? Is it curiosity? What is it? Because I've got to tell you that it's killing me a little bit more every time." He holds out his palms, empty.

"I've got nothing left," he says.

Casey puts a hand to his stomach as it twists. He looks down.

"You've always been too good to me," he says. "I'm such a jerk. You should have punched me out the first time I put my hand in your pants."

"Probably. But I wanted it. Wanted you. I thought it couldn't do any harm, but it did."

Casey recognizes that tone. It's the same one Dan had used when his girlfriend went back to her husband. He'd hated Rebecca for making Dan sound that way and now he'd done the same thing. He looks up.

"Danny," he says and puts his whole self into the short word.

Dan stares at him, really stares and Casey wills him to understand.

"One day I'm gonna make you say it," says Dan and now he's smiling.

"One day I will," and Casey's smiling too. He opens his arms.

It's twenty four plus sixteen minutes and they're naked on Casey's bed, Dan lying on his stomach. Casey is kissing his way up Dan's body. He starts with Dan's feet. Turns out Dan has beautiful feet, smooth as sea-polished stone. They mesmerize Casey for a little while; he runs his tongue over the bumps of the toes, dipping into each little groove. Dan likes that, he's very vocal on that point. Then Casey licks and kisses his way up Dan's legs, stopping at the back of the knees to tease with tiny flicks and delicate touches of his fingers. Further still he travels, treating the crease of Dan's thighs to a similar experience. Dan writhes underneath him and Casey lets his tongue wander up the cleft of Dan's ass, his hands following the curve of flesh. Dan's head thrashes from side to side. Casey smiles and moves on.

He makes his way up Dan's back, tracing the marks he'd left there the previous day with his mouth and his fingers, giving pleasure where he'd given pain. He flutters his fingers over the sensitive skin of the shoulder, puts his mouth against Dan's neck, feels the pulse under his lips, fast and fierce. He loves it. The _life_ of Dan  so close that he can barely tell it apart from his own.

His cock is lying between Dan's ass cheeks, heavy and solid. Dan pushes his hips back, up from the bed, inviting. But Casey kneels up, touches Dan's sides, indicating him to turn over. There's no rush. He's got a whole other side of Dan to explore first. This is already the best sex he's ever had.

Imagine what it'll be like with practice.

* * *


End file.
